


Trope-Tastic: The Sherlock Holmes Collection

by LadyLibby



Series: Trope-tastic! [5]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, John Watson is a great wingman lets be real people, Kissing, Love, Love Confessions, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Romance, fanfiction tropes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-17
Updated: 2017-05-17
Packaged: 2018-10-31 22:57:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10909194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyLibby/pseuds/LadyLibby
Summary: Fanfiction tropes. You all know them. You all love them, no matter how overused they are.Here are the ones I'm using:1.There’s only one bed2.Fake dating/married…turns into real dating3.Person A thinks Person B has feelings for someone else but Person B has actually been in love with Person A for years4.Mutual unrequited pining until a third person(s) intervenes and gets them together5.Person A and Person B have to huddle together to keep warm in the cold6.“I hate them…but they’re so hot”/“I hate them…but I’d die for them”7.Person A and Person B have been friends for a long time and one day Person A realizes that they’ve fallen in love with Person B8.“If we’re just friends, then why are you jealous?”9.Emotional or physical hurt/comfort10.Always arguing but one day while arguing there’s a kiss





	Trope-Tastic: The Sherlock Holmes Collection

**Author's Note:**

> Sherlock Holmes + 3. Person A thinks Person B has feelings for someone else but Person B has actually been in love with Person A for years

Sherlock had been irritable as of late. Yeah sure, he’s nearly always at some level of sour mood, but the last few days he’s been downright cruel. He snapped at everyone about everything and even yelled at poor Mrs. Hudson.

When John entered the flat after a trip to the grocer’s and a tea cup flew past his nose to slam into the wall, he’d had enough. John dropped the plastic bags on the floor, a few inches from the broken shards of ceramic. He folded his arms and gave Sherlock a look that could only be compared with that of a cross parent. 

“What the hell has gotten into you lately, Sherlock?” He demanded, staring down the detective. 

“What the hell has gotten into everyone else should be the question you ask.” Sherlock grumbled, sulking like a moody adolescent. 

“Sherlock…” John warned. 

“I’d rather not discuss it.” Sherlock stated simply, dropping in heap onto his chair. John scoffed, but decided he’d let it rest for the moment. 

“Any cases?” John inquired, attempting a change of subject, in the hopes that discussing a brutal murder might lift Sherlock’s bad mood. Unfortunately, it seemed to have the opposite of its intended effect. 

Sherlock practically growled out his reply, “Just solved it. Y/N is at the station now filling Lestrade in.” His eyes darkened more at the mention of the detective inspector’s name. 

“You weren’t there to lord his ‘stupidity’ over him? Seriously, Sherlock. What is going on?” John demanded. 

Sherlock opened his mouth to make some sort of biting reply when his phone rang, a piano recording of “ Für Elise,” signalling that Y/N was calling. Sherlock jammed his finger onto the screen, wondering why you had to  _ always call  _ instead of text like he preferred everyone else. 

John heard the indistinct sound of your voice from the small speaker. Sherlock listened silently to whatever you had to say before replying with a short, “No,” and then hanging up. 

“What-” John began, only to stop abruptly as Sherlock leapt to stand on his chair and hurled his phone at the opposite wall. Naturally, the electronic broke into pieces on contact. 

“SHERLOCK?!” John yelled in surprise, his friend simply dropping back down into his seat to pout more. “If you don’t tell me what is going on, I’ll throw your experiments in the bin.” John threatened, moving into the kitchen to show he wasn’t joking. 

“No need for empty threats, Watson.” Sherlock grumbled, steepling his fingers underneath his chin. 

“No need-?” John stuttered, becoming more frustrated by the moment. Sherlock just waved him off, and the good doctor elected to sit and listen without more protest (yet). 

“She called to say that she and Lestrade are going out for a pint to celebrate the case and if I wanted to come along.” Sherlock explained, sounding more dejected than anything else.

“What, like a date?” John asked, bewildered. 

“Molly’s there too, so it may as well be a date.” Sherlock scoffed. 

“Sherlock...you fancy Y/N, don’t you.” John concluded, as more of a statement than a question. 

“I...yes, I suppose that would be the closest definition to how I feel about her.” The detective mused. John couldn’t help but let a smile tug at his mouth. 

“How do you feel about her?” He asked quietly. 

“I’m not accustomed to letting emotions get the better of me, but then again, she often makes me do things I am not accustomed to. I don’t really know when it started but about a week ago I was working on a case, and I looked over to see her asleep in my chair with a file in her hand. I realized I didn’t care that she was sitting there, or that she’d fallen asleep on the job. The sight had just made me feel...different. It was like my ribs had collapsed inwards and I couldn’t quite breath. After that I started seeking out ways to make her laugh or smile. My violin compositions are often written with her in mind. She is the voice I most often hear in my mind palace as I work. I love-” Sherlock stopped mid-word, as if realizing exactly what he had just admitted to. 

John was just sat there, grinning widely at his friend. Dr. John Watson had been waiting for this day to come for nearly two years. He could still remember the day Y/N had come home a bit tipsy after a night out with her friends and divulged how much she’d fallen for the tall, broody genius. 

From the day she moved in with them, John could see the potential between Sherlock and their H/C flatmate. The way he was always gentler with her, and the way she lit up at seeing him was a dead giveaway. For John, after faithfully keeping Y/N’s drunken confession to himself, it was just a matter of time until Sherlock made his own realization. 

“You should go to her. Tell her.” John encouraged earnestly. 

“She clearly is interested in Gilbert.” Sherlock argued, sliding further into his chair. 

“Greg. His name is Greg. It’s not really my place to tell, but I can’t bloody stand you two anymore.” John stood up, agitated before continuing, “She doesn’t like Greg as anything more than a friend. She. Loves. You.” 

~

Y/N had somehow been persuaded by Molly to come along to the pub as a wingwoman. Evidently, Molly hadn’t needed any help at all what with how close she was sitting to Lestrade a few feet away at the bar. 

Y/N was sitting towards the end, nursing a club soda and regretting the decisions she’d made that day. All the young woman could think about was that she could be home at 221B drinking tea and laughing with John while totally not at all checking Sherlock out while he played the violin. She couldn’t help but sigh at the memory of her failed phone call earlier. Somehow she’d allowed herself to hope that he might have actually joined them at the pub. 

Resolved not to have a major self pity party anymore, Y/N grabbed her bag and went to check that Molly and the Detective Inspector had a way to get home safe. Satisfied that at least her friends would be having a good night, she headed for the door. 

She easily hailed a taxi and was on her way home, feeling better instantly with the knowledge that she would soon be surrounded by all the things that made her happy. Her key rattled the lock a little as she entered the flat, smiling at the bakery smell wafting from Mrs. Hudson’s flat. 

Y/N smiled softly at the sight of Sherlock lying on the sofa, for once in a peaceful sleep. He’d really overworked himself on their latest case, and Y/N was glad to see him resting. She padded quietly to her room, saying a quick hello to John on her way. Within a moment, Y/N returned to the living room with a blanket and gently placed over her slumbering detective. 

Cup of tea in mind, Y/N moved towards the kitchen. Her progress was halted by a calloused hand gently grabbing her wrist. Startled, she looked down to find piercing blue eyes staring back. 

“You're home.” Sherlock observed. His deep voice a bit husky from sleep making her knees a bit weak.

Y/N giggled a little at the simple statement. “Well yeah, Greg finally made his move. By the time Molly was partially on his lap, I took that as my cue to leave.”

“Lestrade and...Molly?” 

“Yes Sherlock. Molly and Lestrade. I should have known you'd be oblivious to the tension there.” Y/N teased. 

“Apparently I’ve been oblivious to many a thing lately.” Sherlock said, so much to himself that Y/N nearly missed it. 

Before she had time to really wonder what he meant, he sat up long enough to grab her by the waist and pull her down onto the sofa. Sherlock had them positioned such that she was facing him with her back against the inside of the couch. 

“Sherlock…” Y/N whispered, caught off guard.

“You make me feel stable.” He told her, his nose just barely brushing hers. “I love you. No, it's not just that. I need you.” He confessed. 

Y/N leant forward the last inch separating them and pressed her lips to his in a tender kiss. He cupped her face with his hands, bringing them even closer together. 

“I love you too.” Y/N told him when they pulled apart to breathe. 

She’d barely finished her sentence before he swept her up in a more passionate kiss, making any thought that wasn’t about  _ him  _ flee her brain. They stayed like that for a long while, trading kisses and little admittances of their feelings. Eventually they had rotated so that Sherlock was sitting upright on the sofa with Y/N on his lap, secured by the warm embrace of his arms. 

His hair was tousled from her hands and his fingers had just begun to sneak under the hem of her tee shirt when John emerged from his room in search of a glass of water. All the doctor needed was one look before he turned a 180 and marched right back into his room, shaking his head. 

“Like teenagers those two, won’t even make it to a bedroom.” He sighed, making a mental note to never sit on that sofa ever again. 


End file.
